Surfacer's Folly
by Quen Galad
Summary: The Savage North is a cruel place... but maybe out there in the snow, away from all societies, all pressures and all expectations, a love can grow and flourish that would wilt anywhere else. [The G3 IWD2 NPC Project]
1. Sailing Forth

There is a saying: no good deed goes unpunished.

Lena reflected on it as she was being towed away to the brig by the first mate and another sailor. The journey was bad enough on its own - the whole "being chased away from home" thing was bad enough on its own, in fact - but the perspective of solitary confinement just about clinched the matter.

And what did she do? Why did she even do it? A lot of it was just reflexive action. She heard a girl's scream, she jumped belowdeck and kicked the biggest man in the nuts, and it all snowballed from there. The little blue-haired gnome had profited of the confusion to gather up her torn clothing and, apparently, cast invisibility on herself. Which she should have done on day one.

Only without the victim of the attempted rape there to back her up, Lena came off as the one who assaulted the man. The others backed him up and swore they did nothing at all to provoke her, and the gnome girl was not going to reappear just to get her out of it. Lena didn't blame her.

The first mate opened the heavy cage door with almost an apologetic look. "In you go," he said, giving her only the barest shove. We'll be in Targos tomorrow, so just stay put, okay?" He leaned closer and whispered, "the captain did this pretty much for your protection, you know? We all know what happened, but... this seemed like the best way out."

"So I'm not really a prisoner?"

"Girl, you're practically an angel compared to the rest of them!"

"Can I have the key, then?"

"What?"

"The cell key. Just in case. I didn't do anything wrong, right? And I wouldn't want to be stuck in here if someone decides that I did, after all."

The first mate licked his lips nervously, glancing around. Everything was dark, dank and quiet around them. The other sailor went up as soon as the cell doors were slammed shut, and now it was only Lena and the first mate, separated by heavy wooden bars, under the swaying light of a solitary lamp. She gave him a mirthless smile as she absently rubbed a bruise from the fight.

"You're a good man, Sam," she said. "I know you would not, say, let a few boys in here in the night so they can finish what they started. The others? I'm not sure."

The first mate opened his mouth, and then shut it without speaking.

"And keys can be stolen," she added.

He pressed the key into her hand as if he hoped it would hurt, and hurried away.

Lena took a deep breath - not a good idea on the orlop deck - and tried to find a less damp bit of floor to make herself comfortable on. A rat scurried away into the shadows, the ship groaned as it made its way up north, and Lena closed her eyes, trying not to dwell on her departure from home. She failed.

Not that she begrudged lord Gerain what he did. It was the only logical way for him to act, really. Lena did sometimes wonder what had her mother been thinking, though.  
To marry a rich, influential human man, to be his pretty wife, the charming hostess to his parties, the mother of his beautiful, long-lived, half-elven children, was a sensible choice for a disgraced elven noblewoman. To foster her obviously fully-elven bastard daughter in her husband's country estate, in secret, was not.

Lena hardly ever knew another life. She was still a child when her mother established herself as lady Gerain in Luskan, and passed for her mother's young maid. Over time, though, the resemblance between mother and daughter became too visible, and Lena learned that her mother never told Gerain of her existence.

Which seemed bloody stupid. Why not tell him she had a child from a previous marriage? Luskan nobles could hardly think less of him then, and that child would not inherit. A secretly harbored brat was another matter. And humans never could understand elven lifespans so they never realised Lena was far too old to be the result of lady Gerain cuckolding her husband.  
Thus she was sent away to the country estate, where she lived among the hunters, the gamekeepers, the grooms. It had been a wonderful life, but now it was over. Someone had found out about a strange elven girl of unknown origins living on Gerain's land. Someone had started to use that to their advantage, spreading disdainful rumours, ridiculing him, and Gerain felt his seat wobble. That was not part of his deal with the lady. Even worse, his now adult children were likely to take matters in their own hands if he didn't intervene.

"The North will sort you out," he had said. He was not a cruel man, he knew Lena's skills would be more than enough for survival in the wilderness of Icewind Dale. He gave her a fair bit of cash, told her to buy comfortable boots and a warm cloak, and never to return.

Oh well.

Lena remembered her parting scene with her mother, too. The silver ring with a green stone, at least matching Lena's taste for jewelry. Mother being tearful, apologetic. And Lena herself, finally asking the question that had long been on her mind.

"Mother, why did you even keep me here? Why not just foster me in Evereska or something?"

"Oh, but I couldn't! My dear girl, don't you understand? You are all that I have left of your father..." Mother's delicate face seemed to shine with an inner glow as she said the words. "You have his eyes, his dark maroon hair. You walk this earth because he loved me, and I loved him. You are our love, and our love is everything to me."

"So you endanger your present and future for a memory? That's madness, Mother."

"My sweet child, I hope one day you will understand," Mother had said. She embraced her daughter for the last time, lovingly, even if she did wince at the hard leathers and knotted muscles she always found so unseemly. "I hope one day you will find someone who will make you understand the sheer bliss of madness."

"I hope not," Lena had said, with feeling.

And that was how they parted. Goodbye to a life of hunting, of roaming the woods, carefree, of feeling no obligation and no power over her. She was off to take orders and fight for her life, in a place where no good deed went unpunished.

The timber groaned, the ship sailed on, and the plump oil lamp over her head swung gently to and fro, illuminating parts of the cell in turn. In the farthest, darkest corner, Lena saw a bundled heap of... something. The sweeping light made it look almost as if someone was there, curled up in the corner. Or...

Someone was there, curled up in the corner, a hood over their face. Lena unhooked the lamp and came closer. How was there another prisoner in the cell? They would have all heard if someone else got thrown in the brig.

Unless... unless that prisoner was here from the very start. Unless they made their whole journey in the cell.

The light of the lamp fell on graceful, long-fingered hands, on indigo-black skin, on a strand of silvery white hair. 


	2. A Meeting Belowdeck

Long, long afterwards, Lena still remembered the soft terror of that moment. Not because it was a drow. She hadn't met drow before, and she was not raised among the elves and their constant stream of hatred for the underground cousins. She had barely any feeling for the drow, much like she had no feeling for the Mulhorandi.

No, she was terrified because the man in the cell corner had sat there, completely motionless, all this time, he hadn't said a word, hadn't moved at all. Yet he was not unconscious. In the lamplight she could see his purple eyes, watching her unblinkingly, observing, waiting. Like a spider. Didn't the drow have some... thing... with spiders? And Lena was always terrified of spiders.

Then she mentally shook herself off. She was staring, of course the man was wary. Probably sick and tired of people staring. And probably doesn't like surface elves much, but he hasn't gone for her throat even when he had the element of surprise, right? Anyway, he was a fellow inmate. This wasn't the first time Lena was in the nick, she knew the etiquette.

"You scared me," she said, smiling, as she sat back down.

"Forgive me, Mistress."

Just that. Nothing more. He had a strange voice, deep and very masculine, but it had this odd effect, sounding like a whisper even though the man was not, in fact, whispering.

"I'm Lena," she said. He bowed his head, but said nothing.

She sat in silence for a long moment, trying to remember everything she had heard about the drow. It had all seemed like complete bullshit, every time. A bunch of tales invented by the men of the surface to show what horrors would ensue if women ever had power.

But apparently at least some of it was true. She made a last attempt to follow prison manners.

"So what are you in for?" she asked.

He gave a snort, of sorts, a ghost of a chuckle. "Nothing."

"Funny. That's what I'm in for, too."

:::::

It wasn't that she was very talkative. She wasn't. She had spent most of her life in the woods, in the company of her bow and maybe animals. But when she was back among the people of the estate, she liked to trade stories, joke around, sing even. She didn't object to talking. He, apparently, did.

After some time, the darkness and the rocking motion of the ship made her feel drowsy. Boredom probably had something to do with it, too. She leaned into the opposite corner as best she could, curling up for warmth and, incidentally, keeping her right boot upper close to her hand, because the knife there might be useful. Closing her eyes, she listened for the rats scurrying about the ship, amusing herself with guessing their rat business. Slowly, she dozed off.

When she woke up, he was halfway across the cell. He didn't seem to be springing at her, more like silently creeping forward, and his hands were empty, as far as she could tell in this light. Fighting back the urge to spring forward, she kept her eyes almost-shut and waited. What would he do?

He stood there. Did he notice she woke up? Hard to say. He crouched down, and she heard a strange, faint jingling. What was going on? Did he just want a better look? After a tense moment of waiting, straining her hearing, she finally made a show of waking up.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Hours, Mistress. At least four."

She winced as her back confirmed his words. "Any more of this and I'll have to go right to Targos infirmary, forget any guard duties. Actually, that's not a bad idea..."

His quick glance told her guard duties in Targos sounded familiar to him. She waited, but the question did not come.

"Are you on your way there, too? Pay's supposed to be good," she said, fed up with silence.

"I am. I won't get paid, though."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm shipped there instead of being hanged."

"Oh."

She waited, but no more came. "What for?"

"Nothing."

Bit by bit, Lena wormed the story out of him. It was a story nasty in its mundane pettiness - a barrack-room, a bunch of rough types employed as guards, a drow man among them. A recluse, disliked, disrespected. Finally, one evening, the other guards decide to show him exactly what they think of him, only they don't know that a drow man is used to fighting for his life in a way they don't even expect. Two of them are dead by the time the orderly officer even hears the commotion.

He killed in self-defence, that much was clear. The men were even overheard talking about how much they hate him and want to break his neck earlier that night, in a tavern. If he were human, or an elf, or a gnome - anything, just not drow - he'd walk free.

But he was a drow, so he was sentenced to death. Several priests intervened on his behalf and managed to have the sentence commuted to penal servitude, and he was shipped off as part of reinforcements to Targos.

"If I'm hacked down by goblins, it's the same in the end. But I probably won't," he said, and she saw a thin white curve cut through his face, gleaming in the light. She realised he was smiling. It was an odd, unexpected grimace, but she found it enchanting. In the dark, rotting hold of a ship, on his way to fight someone else's battles in a land he did not know nor care for, this man still had pride in his skills. Lena could relate to that.

"What's your name?"

"Rizdaer, Mistress."

"Riz-daer? Rizdaer..." she repeated it a few times, getting used to the alien sounds. Then she realised he was watching her lips as she did so. She smiled. "I like it."

:::::

Hours went past, and Rizdaer was not more talkative now that she knew his name. Back home - that is, back in Gerain's estate, of course - she knew gardeners and gamekeepers who were called surly, but they were positively perky when compared to the drow. She did already grasp that he'd never speak if not spoken to, and it was getting on her nerves. She was not used to conversation where one had to do the work for both sides, and it was exhausting.  
She had found out the most basic things about him, shared not because he wanted to share but because he dared not refuse a woman's wish. That was straight-out creepy. After a few such exchanges, she felt so frustrated she just curled up in her corner and sulked.

The ship creaked on.

Water came from nowhere, crashing through the wood that ceased its groaning and now screamed in agony. Ice cold droplets and splinters together shot from the breaking hull, eager to turn any living flesh into a tapestry of pain. And through all the holes and cracks, water came roaring in, promising a swift drowning and deliverance from all mortal cares.

Lena gaped at it all, far, far too long. It was only when the lamp was thrown off the roof and onto her lap that she jumped up, scalded by the hot metal.

"Mistress! You must run! Now!" It was his voice. Rizdaer's voice. Powerful, stern, commanding, somehow audible through the shriek of the dying ship. Almost automatically, she took out the key and unlocked the cell door. Thank you, Sam, thank you, thank you... She turned to the drow.

"Well come on, then!" she shouted back.

But he didn't move, he stayed glued to the wall that was now letting in torrents of water. He only shook his head. In two strides she was by him, grabbing his arm, pulling him with her. Then she heard that jingling again.  
Water was above the ankles now, but she saw the chain shackled to his leg and hammered into the wall. Even if the wall was pulled loose the chain would drag him down like an anchor...

She dropped down and pulled his boot off before he could even react. Thank goodness his legs were slender and lean like all elven legs. In another moment she crashed the lamp with the chain and covered his leg with the thick oil.

"Come on, pull!"

"Mistress, I beg you, leave me! Go!"

"Just shut up and pull, dammit!"

She held on to the metal collar and pulled with all her might, as he did the same. Their screams were drowned by the torrent of icy water, and by the screams of others, far, far away. A world away. She could see his skin scraped right off by the metal shackle, but still she refused to let go. Better to tear his foot off than to let him die, of that she was certain.

He threw his head back and screamed, and with that final effort, the metal collar slid off his leg, oil, blood and water mixing into a disgusting broth. Lena steadied him, but he shook her off.

"Can you swim?" she shouted. He nodded. "Then let's go! She's gonna break any mo-"


	3. Skeleton of a Town

Was it the pain or the frost that woke her up? She couldn't tell. Every bit of her body whimpered in agony, especially the left arm, where a loose board hit her, cracking the bone. She lay on her back, looking up at the cold, gray sky, with the stench of smoke in her nostrils and the taste of blood and snow in her mouth.

Welcome to the Savage North, it all said.

Then a shadow appeared across the sky. White hair and indigo-black skin, both stained with red, the whole shape swaying slightly, though whether it was her eyes or his legs, she couldn't tell. She tried to move her head to take more in, and she saw his hands. In one hand he had a potion, and in the other a short, blunt, rusted sword.

"So, which is it to be?" she croaked, coughing up a little more blood. He frowned, and then his eyes followed hers.

She could hear screams, human, dwarf and... goblin? All quite near. But on this small bit of the shore, silence spread as the wind itself seemed to catch its breath, waiting. Rizdaer's face, completely blank, all expression locked away as if he never had any emotion at all. And yet she could remember him smiling...

He uncorked the potion with his teeth and raised her head to let her drink. The wind exhaled. The world seemed to get back on course, although its destination has just changed drastically. But neither of the two elves knew it yet.

Lena swallowed the potion and fell back, waiting for the effect. Then she got up, swaying, blinking back snow. Rizdaer held out the sword towards her, hilt first.

Up on the cliff were houses, and something that looked like hastily built fortifications. Out on the river were ship corpses, broken masts and flaming decks, shedding dead bodies like a diseased animal sheds fur. And everywhere, there were goblins, running between what was left of the houses, shouting, killing, looting.

Lena shifted her grip on the sword. She'd prefer a bow, but she wouldn't be able to shoot anyway, not with that arm. She looked at Rizdaer's leg, coated with blood, skin hanging off it in large, black patches, and tried not to be sick.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

"Do I have a choice, Mistress?"

"Let's go, then. If there are no priests up there, I swear someone will soon make a vow of celibacy."

:::::

There were priests, two of them. There was an elf with them, and all three were having some sort of argument. Wounded people groaned on narrow cots that looked like the soul of comfort to Lena as she staggered into the temple-tent-thing and towards the armoured priests, Rizdaer limping behind her.

"We need healing," she said, dropping the bloodied sword onto the ground, where it stuck. The wounded even had blankets!

All three men turned to look at her, and then at the drow man behind her. The elf frowned, and kept on watching her closely even as the other two, humans, burst into speech. Who was she to make demands, did she have money to pay for healing, did she have any idea how to speak to holy men...

"I just cut my way through a horde of goblins," she growled. Their shiny armours, unmarred by a single blow, got on her nerves. "Have you any idea what it was like down there? We cleared the whole docks out of goblin attackers, Rizdaer and I. So now you owe us. I have a broken arm and his leg is damn near flayed. Get to it."

The priests were still gawping when the elven man strode forward and reached out to her. "You are unwise to trust humans with your health. Here, let me-" and he put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her onto a cot.  
Rizdaer was still watching the priests, but his hand moved in a single, precise movement. The stained blade of the rusty longsword he found was now an inch from the other elf's neck.

"Back off," he said, without even looking. No more. And yet the other man took his hands off Lena's shoulders very, very fast. Then he got a grip on himself and composed his face into a sneer.

" -if your dog has no objection, of course," he said, haughtily. Lena sighed.

"How about this. You," she nodded at the priests, "will see to Rizdaer's wounds. You, brother," she turned to the elf, "will honour me with your assistance. And thus no one will have their throat cut. What do you all say?"

Rizdaer lowered his sword, but kept scowling. One of the priests made a show of washing his hands and bending down to the drow's injuries, and Lena turned to the elven man. He had light hair, a stern face, a magnificent fur collar, and the word "druid" all over him.

"My name is Lena," she said, "and I'm pleased to meet a brother of Nature."

"My name is Diriel. I would think our meeting is an omen, were not such things completely against logic." As he put his warm hands on her arm, Lena closed her eyes and let herself me ministered to. But before she lay back, she caught sight of the drow, sitting taut, hands on his sword, watching her. Guarding her...

The druid muttered under his breath - a constant barrage of insults to incompetent human healers of the world.

Lena sighed heavily. Two elves, and half a normal man between them.

:::::

There were many mercenaries in Targos, and "normal" was not the word that could describe any of them. Lena would never have expected herself to be the token well adjusted person, but the riff-raff that milled about Targos was as sorry a bunch as one could find outside a penal colony. Come to think of it, it was a penal colony, for some.

She had had a talk with a man called lord Ulbrec, or something, who passed for the leader of this place. Tired, bewildered, and completely unprepared, he had his people pull houses apart to build a palisade because of a rumour about an attack of a goblin horde, and had his work cut out keeping even his own people under control. When he saw Rizdaer he groaned in dismay and his shoulders visibly sagged.

"Oh, Tempus! He didn't sink with the ship?" the man said, before he could stop himself.

"That explains the chain, at least," muttered Rizdaer, behind her. Lena almost felt like laughing in lord Ulbrecht's face. Or maybe punching it. Hard to decide.

"He didn't. And neither did I," she said. "We were supposed to report for duty here, but maybe you want us to go away right now. Just say the word."

"What? No way." The man fought for some sort of control, and a glimpse of some commanding manner appeared. "I heard of the two elves who cleared the whole docks on their own. I will not let that kind of asset out of my hands easily," he went on. "I just didn't expect one of them to be the drow. Hmm, what to do... I know why he's here, of course. And I don't want the same thing happen among my own troops..."

"Then tell them to leave me be," Rizdaer barked. Lena glanced at him. He certainly could speak up when talking to another man. Dammit.

"Look here, lord Uttec," she began.

"Ulbrec."

"Right. We're signed up to take orders from you, but it's up to you what the orders will be. I'm not much good at patrolling a wall, anyway, and Rizdaer is good at working in the dark. So let village boys man the pallisade, and give us the stealth tasks. What do you say?"

"What stealth tasks?"

She swore under her breath, but only just. "For one, I hear there's a network of caves here, may be chock full of goblins, but you don't have a good enough tracker to check. Well, now you do."

Ulbrec looked into the resolute face of the elven woman. So similar, and yet so different from his wife, Elytharra, delicate, willowy, elegant. He tried to imagine this hard-eyed elf-maid in a flowing, silvery gown, dancing on the grass, laughing. He failed.  
And behind her was the hard, dark face of the drow man. To go by what Elytharra said, the drow probably murdered his baby sister when she was in the cradle, because later on she'd have power over him. He certainly looked like he did. Ulbrec could feel his own morale plummeting at the thought of this man being armed behind his back. He didn't even want to think what the townsmen would say.

"Fine. You two, you are now my very own special forces. You can get up to four others to join the team, pending my approval, of course. Put yourselves up for the night if you want, but deal with the caves in the next eight hours. And make sure I don't regret it."

Lena just nodded, and went out. Ulbrec turned to Elytharra, who was watching from an open doorway. "What do you think?"

"I think you made the right decision, dear. They will be far more useful out there than in here."

"What do you mean, 'out there'?"

"Haven't you heard of Valin's visions? I don't think they will stay in Targos for long."


	4. Supper of Champions

After the long trek to and from the Shaengarne Bridge - not to mention hacking their way through what seemed like an army of orcs, goblins, bugbears and hell knows what else - Lena stumbled into the Targos inn like a sinner into sanctuary. When she saw the dogs sleeping peacefully around the fire, she felt like crying.

She turned to the drow. "Hungry?"

Watching her lips as usual, he stood there, rigidly, but did not answer. She waited.

"Rizdaer? I asked if you were hungry." When still she got no reply, she leaned closer to him and took him by the arm. "Are you all right? Are you hurt or something?"

Slowly, very slowly, as if the words were dragged out of him, he said, "No, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. I will be honoured to have anything you choose to feed me, Mistress."

She stared, but nothing more came. Just the silence of a man standing to attention, avoiding her eyes, his face carefully blank. She shrugged and set out to get all the food she could for the two of them. The rest of their impromptu special forces have dispersed around the town, but of course Rizdaer followed her wherever she went.

Soon enough Lena brought a whole roast chicken to the corner where he sat, scowling at anyone who looked his way. She sat down by him, broke off a leg, and suddenly he jumped up as if the bench bit him.

"What? What happened?"

"I- Forgive me, Mistress..."

Realisation dawned. "Oh, don't tell me you can't sit and eat with me. Just don't."

They stared at each other for a moment, locked in mutual incomprehension. Finally, without a word, he plopped down again, looking like a beaten man. Lena ate with enjoyment ; the simple pleasure of a body being warm and fed was always one of her favourites, so simple, so self-sufficient. But after a while she noticed the drow didn't.

She opened her mouth to speak, thought about their previous conversations, and closed it. She took her knife and with great care cut off the untouched half of the chicken. Then she got up, took another wooden plate from the innkeeper, sat back down, and carefully separated the two portions. She pushed the fresh half towards Rizdaer and got back to her own.

After a while, she felt moved to say, "It's best when hot."

After another while, she went away from the table again to ask for goblets and wine, and very pointedly keeping her back to the drow. When she returned, Rizdaer was halfway through his chicken, wolfing it down like gamekeepers did in hunting season, when they never knew if they'd be called away at a second's notice to trudge through the forests for days. He was so into it he didn't react when she sat down and got on with her own food.

Mistress this Mistress that... It made her think of some of the noblewomen she met in Luskan, who were unable to answer to "good morning" without throwing a fearful glance at their husbands first.

When he was done, she poured out two goblets of wine. "Want a drink?"

"I need a clear head, Mistress."

"You do?"

"To fight for you, Mistress."

"We're done fighting for this week," she said, taking a good gulp. The wine was surprisingly passable.

"I have to be ready to serve you at any time, Mistress."

"You don't."

"I do."

Lena stared. All right, fine, so he couldn't say "no" to a woman outright, but why...? Oh. That must be it. He thought she was testing him. She'd offer drink, he'd drink, and she would then do... what exactly? Flog him, possibly. Or something gruesome, at any rate.

Lena suddenly felt very, very alone among strange people. Somewhere behind her, the scrawny redhead bard started to mewl out a song that she thought was seductive and witty, but the rhymes in which might explain why she sought her audience in here and not, say, Waterdeep. Out through the window there was a glimpse of the tan hair of the elven druid, who - she already knew - refused to eat the food prepared by a human, or even sit to eat among humans, and dined on Goodberries outside.

What a place. What a sorry bunch of bastards.

She reached out for Rizdaer's untouched goblet. "All right. Don't drink then. But I warn you, I plan to get plastered."

And she kept on drinking, under the unmoving, violet gaze of the drow eyes. Time and again she tried to talk to him, when wine worked down her defences. Time and again she met with flat resistance, dressed in servile yes, Mistress, forgive me Mistress. It made her want to lay down and cry.

When the wine bottle was empty, Lena suddenly realised how much she had done over these last days, how overtaxed her body was. She bent down on the table with a faint sigh, closing her eyes, and thus missed the first time Rizdaer's face showed genuine, frank emotion. That of utter horror.

"Mistress," he whispered, urgently, "don't let them see you like this! I beg of you, Mistress!"

But there was no answer from underneath the brown hair.

In one, quick movement, Rizdaer covered her with his cloak, drawing the hood over her head. Then he propped her up in the corner, arranging her hands on her sword so that she looked as if she sat on her guard in the shadows. An onlooker could perhaps notice that the drow's actions were practised, like he did it before... but no one seemed interested in him, which was a welcome if weird feeling. The redhead was flaunting herself on a table like a sirine with a hundred spawn to feed.

Rizdaer strode over to the innkeeper, who took a step back guiltily.

"My Mistress needs a room."

"Right! Um. Double bed, eh? Heh."

"What? No. One single bed."

"One? But what about you, man- um, sir?"

"One. Single. Bed."

Rizdaer carried Lena up to the bedroom just as the song was finished and the tavern exploded with randy laughter. It was darker upstairs, and the corridor was narrow. He felt better already.

Very, very carefully, he put her to bed, working calmly and steadily to take her clothes off. He knew she was strong and nimble, he had seen her fight, and the hard lines of her face and shoulders spoke of a force pent up and ready. And yet, at the same time, there was a softness about her...

He peeled her shirt off carefully, and took off her breastbinding, knowing perfectly well how much more comfortable females felt when that was done. As he did so, she half-turned on the bed and muttered something, her hands reaching up to her breasts, rubbing them with contentment. Rizdaer stared, watching until she turned away and curled up, showing her naked back and shoulder. A moment passed before he drew the covers on her.

He washed her clothes, greased her boots, sharpened her weapons. Then he saw to his own. It was all done in quick, precise movements of a man used to servitude, but every now and again he glanced at her shifting on the bed, and frowned.

Then he put a glass of water close by the bed, and sat down to guard her, sword on his lap. Wolves howled in the frozen forest.


	5. High in the Sky

Icy wind howled all around her, and Lena drew the woollen hood tighter around her head, to block at least some of the din from her ears. The ship groaned, but not like the rotting coffin she sailed to Targos in. This one groaned like a wooden shield under onslaught. Over her head, a balloon filled with hell-knows-what kept the whole thing aloft. Somewhere far, far below her feet was the Shaengarne River, and around her, so close she could almost touch them, were the peaks of the Spine of the World.

It was magnificent.

She watched in awe as the mountains sailed past, sparkling blue crystals of ice, wreathed in gold where the sun fell on them. The ship shook and swayed, but Lena clutched resolutely to the railing, determined to feast her eyes on the wild, uncompromising beauty of Nature.

She couldn't have heard him in the din, and she couldn't have smelled his furs - which was how she usually knew he was close - in the wind, but somehow she still knew he was there, even before a hand appeared right next to hers.

"The beauty of it moves you."

It was not a question, but for once she felt she could let it slide.

"Yes."

"Why does it move you?"

She could tell he was looking at her, but she pointedly kept her face away, turned towards the jagged mountaintops.

"Because it's... unapologetic. Unashamed."

"Very good answer! It is. It does not shy away from proclaiming its strength and its majesty. There is no modesty in Nature, because modesty is a concept created by the inferior to try to lower the superior back to their level. I am glad you can understand that."

Lena chuckled, though whether it was from amusement or contempt, she herself couldn't say. He was so eager to see anything as a sign, a sign of both her support for his cause and of his cause being right. So... desperate. She turned to him, and looked into those amber eyes.

"That's not what I meant, Diriel. But you wouldn't like what I meant."

"There is only one way to test that supposition. Tell me what your actual meaning was."

"Nature here is not what poets in Evereska make it out to be. It's not all just delicate spring flowers. It's cruel and unforgiving as well as beautiful, and that... speaks to me, because my Mother always wanted to make me into a prim, courtly lady."

Diriel laughed. It was the first time she saw him laugh, freely and honestly, out of sheer amusement. He took a braid of her hair in between his fingers, and rubbed it gently where some blood of a harpy was still caked into it.

"What a singularly unsuitable function for you. I feel moved to say that your Mother must have been mad."

"Diriel, we are a group of five more-or-less-criminals, on an airship piloted by an insane gnome who often falls asleep at the helm, looking for an army that is too late and not really needed anymore, to lead them through a land we do not know. I don't think we have the right to comment."

Diriel laughed again, looking into her eyes. Just then, the ship shook harder, and they caught hold of one another for support. Lena's face was brought right into the fur collar he always wore, and she could smell the mixture of juniper and sage he used to keep it clean. The hair tickled her nose lightly.

"Best hurry up, brother, because the drow is about to crawl out of his hole, and when he sees this, he will cut off a lot of your... appendages. Personally, I think she's not worth it."

Diriel turned to the bard, but did not let go of Lena's shoulders.

"I am not concerned with the drow's opinion, nor does he have any claim to a position of rivalry. Despite his many shortcomings, he is not entirely stupid, and no doubt knows that the best he can do is to not entertain ideas above his station."

"You certainly express your lack of concern at length and in detail, brother. Are you sure it's just me you're trying to convince?"

"I wouldn't waste my breath trying to convince you of anything, half-breed. What you "think" and believe is of no consequence to me."

"You'll change the tune yet, brother," said the bard, disappearing belowdeck.

Diriel turned back to Lena, who simply stood there, delighting in the warmth of his furs. He held her close, leaning her against the railing, watching her intently as the mountains sailed past.

"You cloud my judgement, Lena." he said. "I know for a fact that there are elven females far more beautiful and graceful than you, and yet... when you are close, I forget that. When you are close, my reasoning becomes... subjective."

"Does that worry you?"

"Yes, it does."

"Then keep away."

But Diriel still did not let go of Lena's shoulders.

Rizdaer felt slightly better. He didn't understand most of what Nikosh babbled about, and what he did understand he didn't care for, but the runt had to have that said for him - he could cook up amazing things from the stuff he found in the snow. Whatever was in that hot, pungent, watery brew, it calmed his stomach and made him master of his own legs again. Almost.

He put his armour back on, got his hair in order, washed his face, steadied her hands, and got out of the low storeroom just in time to collide with the bard.

"My my, you look like your old self again. Are you going up to enjoy the view?"

"No."

"Smart man. Of course it's much better to stay down here, in a nicely secluded corner, and in close proximity to my perfect body. Any ideas on how we can pass the time?"

"You wouldn't like my ideas."

"Oh no? Try me, my dark friend."

"You're not my friend, bard. You're no one's friend. And you can stop trying, because you can't get at me. Not with words, not with your body. Not at all."

"For a man raised in servitude and inferiority, you are very sure of yourself, Rizdaer."

"So are you, for a female trapped in a dark corner with a much stronger male."

"Ha ha! And a male who has many a score to settle with females to boot! Wonderful. I like how you imply that I may serve as a representative, nay, a paragon of all femininity for you. Excellent taste, my friend."

Rizdaer hardly even moved... and yet Salomeya was suddenly pressed against the wooden wall, his body wedged between her inexplicably splayed legs, the hard edges of his armour biting painfully into her lightly clothed flesh. He gave her buttocks a single, hard slap, and chuckled as she yelped and squirmed.

"Keep provoking me, bard," he said, "and I might just take it all out on you. You wouldn't like it."

Then he stepped back so suddenly that Salomeya fell to her knees. He turned away just as she whispered, "Wouldn't I?" and she couldn't tell if he heard it or not.

Maralie Fiddlebender sat on the ladder leading to the deck. She had no idea why all the elven grown-ups were doing all those strange things - getting close and then getting away, touching and then not touching, saying things and not saying things. Just now, for instance, the elven lady in the green clothes was embracing the elven gentleman with the tan hair and furs. But when the elven gentleman with the silver hair and the black hood went out onto the deck, the lady stepped awkwardly away from the other gentleman and turned back quickly to watch the scenery.

Then again, the scenery was amazing. The walls of the Western Pass rose on both sides, pointed like a row of giant, white hats. Maralie flew many times through the Pass and always liked how it was this long tunnel, with the dark mass of Fell Wood just visible... on a clear day... on the other end...

"Uncle!" squeaked Maralie, struggling to her feet. "Uncle! UNCLE!"


	6. Teeth of Ice

"There's your idol, Sally. Ask her the meaning of 'dignity' and 'decorum'."

"I'm surprised you know these words, darling."

"You're easily surprised, then."

Before the bard could answer, a terrible shriek of agony echoed around the hills. Sherincal flapped her wings and rose in the air, easily dodging a barrage of bolts shot by someone too disturbed to aim. The dragon woman circled the rock, once, the blows of her blue wings raising clouds of snow. She turned, and smacked at something with her tail.

A moment later, Diriel fell through the air, yelling, and crashed down at Lena's feet.

"I congratulate your diplomatic skills, brother" Salomeya sneered as Lena stooped down to minister to the man.

"What happened?"

"Sherincal... appeared," Diriel stammered through his injuries, "as we were about to... conclude negotiation. Angered at the... perceived breach of treaty by Illium, she... killed his mate."

"What? Right before his eyes?!"

"Oh my, what a tragedy! My heart bleeds for the poor lover!" Salomeya raised her hand to her head dramatically.

Rizdaer scowled at the rocks that echoed with her voice. "It just might, if you don't shut up. What now, Mistress?"

Lena sighed and tied Diriel's broken arm securely. It would have to wait until one of them had some healing magic at their disposal. Then she took out a scroll tube from her pack. "Stay here. Rizdaer is in charge until I get back. No. Arguments." And, moving quietly, she began to climb the rock, on the sheer side.

:::::

Illium was on his knees, sobbing. His hands were covered in blood, blood that he had tried to staunch in vain. The blow of Sherincal's huge sword had cut the panther's body - Odella's body - right open. A mass of fur and gore lay steaming in an expanding puddle of blood and melted snow, circling the ranger like a gruesome wreath.

Lena blinked back tears. What was it about this land that made love so strong? Veira and her husband, Ennelia and Bradston, Illium and Odella... they all loved to strongly, so passionately, and thus opened themselves up for suffering. Maybe love really was a foolish weakness?

She shook her head. That sounded like something Rizdaer would say.

Slowly, making no noise on the hard snow, she reached the man, although he was in such deep despair he would probably not notice a pack of rampaging yeti. She touched him on the arm.

"Illium..."

He spun around, madness in his eyes. "You! You! It's you who killed her, you-!" Words failed him. All the insults in the world were not enough. He raised a bloodied fist and struck her hard, right to the side of her face. Lena took the blow without trying to defend herself.

"Yes. I killed her. And now I come to bring her back." She reached out, proferring a parchment scroll to him. Unwillingly, Illium took it, unrolled it. Then he stared at her in disbelief.

"A universal resurrection scroll," he whispered. "That... It's..."

"Worth more than anything we all own. Yes. It will bring her back."

Illium stared at her for a very long time. Somewhere below, the rangers of Andora got on with their daily lives, and the animals of the North did the same. But up here on the rock, there was silence, if one didn't count the hissing of snow melting in the hot, steaming blood. Lena tried to close her mind to the sound.  
Then Illium raised his bloodied hand again, and touched the red mark on her face, swelling up where he hit her. He murmured a few words, and the mark was healed. Then he turned to his love, his back now straight and proud.

Lena stood back as he read the scroll, performed the actions and gestures. The touch of his hand on her cheek made her uneasy. The warmth of his fingers, the soothing feeling of the spell... Of course, he had struck her first, but in the circumstances it was pardonnable. And that healing gesture reminded her how good it felt to be touched by a man. A man like her, a man who truly shared her values.

Greenish light streamed from underneath Illium's scarlett hands, and the air tasted of fresh leaves. Magic poured into the panther's body. The fur rippled, the body stirred... and changed.

Sitting up in the gory puddle, huddling a brown cloak around her, was a black haired elven woman with narrow eyes and very muscular arms. "What... oh, my head... Illium...? You... brought me back?"

The ranger laughed, tears streaming down his face anew. Tears of joy. She threw her arms around him, kissed him, held him. They hugged, kissed, laughed, stroked one another's hair, whispered vows of eternal love. Then Lena started to feel a little superfluous. Surely they wouldn't...? Not right here? Would they?

Yes, apparently they would.

She tiptoed away as quietly as she could and climbed down again.

She could see them from up the rock, but they could not see her, not for the moment at least. As she glanced down, she saw Nikosh give the druid some food, which he took for once. In dire enough straits, one tended to wind down one's noble ideas, and Diriel was apparently no exception. Seeing him eat contendedly, his face for once devoid of its usual sneer, made her smile.  
Then Lena glanced at the other two. Salomeya was sitting next to Rizdaer, talking earnestly. And he didn't seem to be casting his eyes down, replying "yes Mistress" or "no Mistress." He... just talked to her.

Lena got down and made for Diriel. Sitting down next to him, she held his head as he drank a healing potion, then helped him straighten up. He thanked her as politely as he could - so, not very politely at all - and reassured her she did the right thing with Odella and the scroll.

"Odella was manifestly the right mate for Illium, and a proper mate is extremely important. What you did ensures that we have allies here, allies who share our ideals and who live by them. In time, Odella will produce quality members of our race, and raise them to follow the right teachings."

Lena opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't decide what to say. There were many things. "'Produce'?" was a good start. "She's a person, not a plot of soil" was another. Slapping his face was another attractive option. Before she could decide, she was distracted by Salomeya doing her most hollow silvery laugh while discussing Eilistraee with the drow.

Lena swore, under her breath.

She looked into the druid's amber eyes. He was handsome, damn him. Very handsome. And she realised that all his talk about breeding was his way of courting her. But... she thought of Illium's tears, she thought of his utter despair at the loss of his love. Would Diriel lament more than the loss of his potential elven spawn?

Over by the other rock, Salomeya giggled. "Oh, you must mean my cooking talents!"

"No, the other one," he replied, and there was far too much amusement in his smile. Lena stood up, purposefully.

"We're off. We're staying at Andora tonight. Maybe you two can get a room." It was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn't stop herself.

:::::

Light gleamed off the smooth surface of the ice walls, and Lena slipped and skidded as she pushed the dead bodies of several aurilites on a heap, out of sight. The bodies slid without effort, and the blood could be wiped off the ice floor easily, but she still would have preferred to move freely. Or not have reflections dance in front of her eyes.

She slid over to the druid, frowning in concentration, a Flame Blade spell glinting in his hand. "Well?" she asked.

"Unsatisfactory. The ice melts initially, but freezes back over faster than the fire affects it."

"Naturally."

"You could not be more wrong. There is nothing natural..."

Lena prepared to endure one more reminder how inferior her intellect was, but something caught her eye. Rizdaer staggering and leaning on the ice wall for support. When he noticed her watching, he made an effort to stand up straight, but his voice was hoarse as he spoke.

"Mistress? Can we stop for a moment?"

"You look ill, Rizdaer, are you wounded?"

"It's... it's this accursed light! The ice walls... it's worse than the snow!" His eyes were bloodshot, trailing tears, and he looked terrible. Lena was certain she could hear the druid mutter something about leaving the weak behind, but she ignored it.

"We can rest here for a while, if you want. I'll watch over you."

"You will watch over me? While my eyes are closed?"

"Yes. You need to rest them. Please trust me, Rizdaer."

He gave a snort of bitter laughter and wiped off a few tears. "I've fallen to pieces, haven't I? I'm blind, crying, and I have to be coddled like a surface baby. You should just cut my throat and be done with it, Mistress."

"I heartily concur," said a voice behind her. She went on ignoring it.

"Rizdaer, if you call me 'mistress' one more time, I'll... I... I will dye your armour pink."

This time the laughter was not as bitter, and she saw that smile of his, like a thin sliver of the waning moon. He put his back to the ice wall, and slid gently down, with his sword across his knees. He glanced at her, just once, before he closed his eyes. She was sure she heard a sigh of relief. She turned to the druid.

"Diriel, you're in charge while Rizdaer rests and I watch over him. Take the others and scout out. Minimum noise - and this means you, bard - kill only when you're sure no one will see, hide all bodies. You know the drill, we did it before. Return here after an hour, if you don't, we will start looking for you. Go."

They went off. The bard was saying something about Lena inverted comma watching inverted comma over Rizdaer, but she, too, was ignored. Lena turned back to the drow.

"At least once he just did what he was told," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

"Like I said," was his reply. "Surface females want their males obedient, just like the drow do."

"I still say there's a difference. Besides, relationships and business are different, too."

"And this is?" His eyes were still closed, and yet Lena knew he was watching her closely. Somehow. The drow were used to impenetrable, magical darkness after all...

"Diriel and I? Business, of course."

"Of course." There was an edge to his voice that made her heart beat faster, but she made her best to appear casual.

"Why, did you think there was something between us?"

"Isn't there? You have a lot in common. You're both surface elves, both used to the wildlands, similar things please you."

"So that's what you meant when you spoke of finding similarities between people! I've always wondered."

There was a cut-off yelp down the corridor. She slid off quietly to check it out, but was soon back. The others seemed to have it in hand.  
Rizdaer was where she left him, leaning against the icy wall, and probably getting pneumonia. She tore off the fur cloaks from the two dead barbarians.

"Here, put this between your back and the ice. Sit down, rest your legs. And let me tell you something."

"I'm listening, Mi- uh. I'm listening."

She took a deep breath. "There isn't one uniform thing all women want. Certainly not surface women, and probably not drow women either. Some want their men obedient, on a leash. Some want to be coddled and pampered by strong men. And some..."

"Yes?"

"Some want to be respected, and wanted, for who they are. Not what, who."

Rizdaer's white brows knitted over his eyelids. "I don't understand."

Lena waved her hands in the air as if she hoped to shape it into her meaning. "It's... I mean... what do you think draws people to one another?"

"A bear."

"Being a woman, you... what?"

"There's a polar bear coming down the corridor. Can't you hear it?"

She could. But she was too absorbed in the whole damn drama. Stupid, stupid... things like that get you killed around here, girl. Get a grip on yourself.

She slid out a sharp hunting arrow just in time. "I see it," she hissed. "Stay put, I'll handle it."

The animal could probably smell them, but it, too, had trouble in the weird interior of the ice temple. Try as you might, you can't just do away with Nature, and the bears were bewildered and wandered aimlessly, looking for a way out of the strange, giant iceberg. Lena drew the string back, waiting for the bear to expose its neck, the leather of her gloves creaking under the pressure, her back turned to steel as it held the longbow drawn...

Thunk. The arrow flew through the corridor like a deadly gust of wind and buried itself in the animal's neck. A low groan was all the bear gave as it collapsed. "I wish we didn't have to kill them," Lena said. She got up to hide the corpse, and noticed Rizdaer's eyes were open. He saw her looking, and smiled. Actually smiled.

"I wanted to see it fly," he said. "I wanted to see you shoot."

"Oh. Um... give your eyes some more rest." She could feel herself grinning like an idiot and, to mask that, she bent her head over the potions bag. "This ointment might help."

She felt him tense up as she knelt before him and slipped her gloves off, and then he went completely rigid when he felt her touch his face. Her fingers traced his eyelids, coating the skin with a thin layer of eyebright ointment, and she could swear he was holding his breath. When he let it out, slowly, softly, the warmth of it tickled her bare palms. His lips, sharp and dark, were slightly parted...

Respect his boundaries, she kept thinking. Respect his boundaries. Respect them, even though he doesn't know what they are, or that he has them. Respect them. Respect. She leaned her forehead against the icy wall and felt it melt. Respect.

The eyebright ointment must have worked, because she could hear him get up. She pulled her gloves back on, quickly, and looked up in time to see him shift the grip on his swords.

"Come, Mistress. Let's find them, and rescue them from whatever mess they got themselves in."


	7. Hate at First Sight

It was some time before Lena realised what was strange about this region: the lack of wind.

All over the Savage North, the wind roared and punched into travellers like a raging barbarian, but here, in the nook between the mountains and the dark, thick mass of the Fellwood, it was calm and silent. Pleasant, even.

Diriel was, of course, appalled to find a human settlement marring the wild beauty of this secluded spot, and for once Lena was inclined to agree. While she was happy to find a place where someone else lit the fires for a change, and where she could get extra blankets, the small-minded helplessness of the humans of the Wandering Village got on her nerves. Their elder had the gall to blackmail them into helping the village, and it was all Lena could do to stop Diriel from setting fire to all the hut-tent-things that passed for houses in it, right there and then. It was all the worse because she herself badly wanted to smack a few heads.

Rizdaer was strangely content, though. There was a worryingly satisfied smirk on his face as he drew his sword right through that Limha woman, and Lena was sure he said something, too... but right at that moment, Diriel rushed in to see to her injuries, and she was distracted by his touch.

Now, as the pathetically poor celebration the village has thrown to welcome the children back was in full swing, Lena slipped away quietly towards the most secluded, darkest little hut. Sure enough, in a nest of furs and blankets, Rizdaer sat, eating hurriedly, his back to the wall. And not just any wall, she noticed, but the wall that was in itself leaning on the sheer rock face. The man took absolutely no chances.

"Hey, you," she said. She expected him to bow down in silence, or say something like "take all my blankets, Mistress" but he surprised her.

"Did the druid allow you to skip a language lesson?" he sneered.

"Diriel is resting. And we won't be doing the language thing for a while."

"Why not?"

Lena shrugged. Would she be able to explain the tangled mess of her feelings? Would Rizdaer understand?

"Nice little nest you found here," she said, instead.

"The slender female, Pairi, said I could use it."

Lena had finished off her own food, and was now washing it down with some of the sour wine they had here. She steeled her hand, and the bottle covered most of her face, but still she wasn't sure if Rizdaer couldn't read her expression. She cleared her throat hastily and started scrambling out of the hut.

"Mistress..." Rizdaer's voice stopped her in her tracks as she was dragging back the thick hide curtain that passed for a door here. She turned around, and in the faint light she saw him, reclining on the heap of furs and blankets, his silvery white hair brilliant in the darkness. He looked almost... relaxed.

"Yes?" she said, her voice suddenly faint.

"When you sang with the druid... it was beautiful. He should have appreciated it more."

Lena smiled a sad little smile. "Thank you, Rizdaer."

:::::

She woke up before the dawn, when Venla the healer started to make noise. In the end, Lena, Salomeya and Nikosh slept in Venla's emergency cots, while Diriel set out to rest among the trees, some distance away from the human settlement. Before going to bed, Lena found out, through a few casual questions, that the small hut Rizdaer slept in was not Pairi's own bed. It had been the bed of a hunter who died recently, the hut disused and thought unlucky.

She made her way out of the village in the pale, pre-dawn light, until she found Diriel, sitting in the snow with his face turned eastwards. He did not turn when she approached.

"The stench of the human nest is, alas, drowning the fair natural scent of your body. I'm sorry, but I simply cannot converse with you while you reek so," he said.

And good morning to you, too, she thought. Out loud, she simply said, "Fine. We'll converse some other time, then."

"Lena, wait. There is a creek not far from here. I will help you wash the offence off."

"No, thank you, Diriel. I can still wash myself. See you later, then."

She got back to the village, and for a while busied herself with her equipment. Rations, fresh water, fresh layer of grease on her boots, on her bowstring. No one was awake yet, save for her and Venla. All was quiet, and seemingly peaceful, for all the dangerous beasts that supposedly roamed the region and continuously threatened the settlers.  
She liked it here. She liked the uncompromising, cruel beauty of the Northern Nature, she liked the dangerous darkness of the Fell Wood, its strong will to survive. Suddenly, an urge came over her to stay here, stay here for good.

What else had she to do? She was tasked with finding the Neverwinter soldiers and getting them to Targos. Well, the soldiers weren't going anywhere anymore, and the orc horde was destroyed. She had opposed the fanatics of Auril mostly to release Illium and all of Andora from their ill-conceived alliance, and to eliminate a threat to Kuldahar. Kuldahar was a living monument to Nature and of course it was worthy of all the help she could give.  
But now? With the iceberg melting, and Oswald rushing off, the five of them went on simply because there was nothing to stay for in the pass. Well, here was something to stay for, at least for her. Sally could make her way back to civilisation from here, and so could Nikosh - heavens knew he made enough money to bail himself out now. While she herself could just stay here, and make sure the village did not infringe too much on the Fell Wood. It would be a simple, peaceful existence. With every fiber of her being she knew she would love it.

Of course, Diriel would not be content with such a life... He would probably leave immediately, towards the Severed Hand which seemed to be at the center of his ideas. And Rizdaer... she had absolutely no idea what would happen to Rizdaer.  
The sounds of the village waking up saved her from those two trains of thought.

It was a few hours later that the rest of them woke up. Lena spent these hours arguing with the village elder, who seemed to think it was a good idea to hold out on people who could kill her whole tribe. The Wandering Village custom seemed to be to pick their leaders for their cheekiness.

She was sitting back at the central bonfire when Sally appeared, making a show of stretching herself and wrapping her fur coat around her shoulders and generally flaunting herself as much as possible. Lena wondered why, since the audience seemed to be only villager hunters, but then she realised that Rizdaer was out of his little niche, too. He looked... content. Rested, relaxed. And he also looked right at the bard, with something akin to a smile on his face.

Lena suddenly regretted having slept so comfortably and soundly that she didn't even know if the bard had left her cot in the night.

As if reading her thoughts, Rizdaer came up to her side, dropped down onto his haunches, and spoke.

"Mistress, if I bedded another woman, what would you say?"

The question, coming right at this moment, broke right through all her defences. Lena couldn't help shooting a quick glance at Sally, and even if Rizdaer didn't notice it, the bard definitely did. She smirked, and Lena fought back the urge to strangle her. She strove for some control of her voice.

"Nothing. That's your business."

"You would truly just step back and let another female win?"

"Win? Rizdaer, your body is not a battlefield. It's not a... a thing to be fought for."

"No. I'm not handsome enough for that. But..."

"For the hundredth time, Rizdaer, I am not your Mistress, you are not my property, and you can...you can love whomever you want."

Rizdaer scowled at her, and then turned his face to the fire. Lena suddenly realised that he was not wearing his armour. There was only a close-fitting, black shirt under the black, woollen cloak, and leather leggings disappearing into the tall boots trimmed with dark yeti fur. Rizdaer refused to wear the winter wolf pelt, because he said the white colour was too noticeable.  
She was still staring at the contours of his body under the shirt when his voice cut through her reverie.

"My insticts tell me I should be grateful for your indifference," he said. "But I'm not. It... offends me, somehow."

"Indifference?"

The word came out of her mouth with so much incredulity that it shocked even the drow. For a moment he forgot himself and looked right into her eyes. The sheer novelty of the experience almost hypnotised her.

And then Nikosh came up to the fire, smiled vaguely at everyone, and said, "Good mornin'. Where is the other dark elf gentleman, then? Because he sure was here in the evenin'."

:::::

Later on, Lena wondered how could she have been so stupid. Of course, it was not the first time that her judgement was clouded, by either one or the other or both of them. But everything about Nym screamed "less trustworthy than a really thin layer of ice on a very murky lake in late April" and yet she didn't even think twice about his disappearance.

She sprang up, readied her bow, and called out Diriel's name, once. He had to have this said for him: he appeared very quickly, and perfectly took up his place in the formation.  
The same couldn't be said of at least one other member of the party, of course.

"Why on earth are you making that undignified racket, Lena? Because I swear, if-"

"Nym ran away before the dawn, so we should expect trouble at any minute," was what Lena meant to say. But her voice was drowned by a deafening thunderclap.

Two columns of light struck at the very gate of the village, and in a blink of an eye, two bizarre figures stood there. Lena had already been poised to shoot for a while now, and her arrow cut right through the membrane on one of the leathery wings.  
Or were they hands? As the two creatures approached - completely unconcerned by the blows of Lena's arrows or the panicked shouts of the village hunters - she could see that what she took for wings were really another pair of arms, with giant, webbed palms at each end. But what was really repulsive was not the bestial form. It was the expression of contemptuous hatred on the two very normal, human (elvish, even) faces.

"I am Isair, and this is my sister Madae," the male cambion said. Interestingly, they have both turned towards Rizdaer, and talked to him as if he were the leader of the party. Of course, his place was at the head of the combat formation.

After the first bout of surprise, Lena realised he was actually handling the conversation very smartly. The cambions started off with some vapid, grandiose threats, both personal against their group and general against Targos and the Ten Towns. But after a few of Rizdaer's stony silences and unimpressed monosyllables, the twins were suddenly explaining their plans in detail, telling all about their army of half-breeds, about their planned attack on Kuldahar, even about their allies in Luskan. Lena could see both Diriel and Salomeya watching the drow in shock.

It was almost a pleasant interaction, really, right until Madae said, "Do we kill them now, or shall I take them to the Hand, to serve as breeders?"

Lena felt the bile rise in her stomach. She didn't hear Isair's response, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She grappled with her quiver for one of the Sure Strike Arrows, to put it right into the eye socket of that abominable creature...

But the cambions were gone in a flash, a thunderous explosion that cut down the hapless village hunters who weren't fast enough to duck. Their charred bodies fell to the snow, twitching.

"Well, this could have gone worse," said Nikosh. "I for one am not upset that we didn't have to fight demonic creatures from hell, how about you, miss?"

But Lena was looking at the charred bodies, which somehow didn't stop twitching.

"Ready your sling, Nick. It's not over."


	8. Leaders and Followers

"Are you kidding me? I just washed this coat!"

"Um, I don't want to speak out of turn, miss, but you made me wash it for you."

"Well, yes, obviously. And you will have to do it again, right now."

As Salomeya struggled out of her furs, Lena and Rizdaer bent over the twice-dead bodies. The drow brought his sword down heavily, cutting two heads with one stroke.

"That should do it," he said.

"They will not be reanimated again," Diriel said. "The cambion's magic made them ambulatory, she would have to be here and cast her spell anew for that to happen."

"I wish she were here, so I could pluck her eyes out and make her eat them. 'Serve as breeders', eh?" There was grim determination in her eyes as Lena straightened up.

"Listen up, team," she said. "Last night, I came to a decision. Since our tasks were done, I was going to disband this sorry excuse for a mercenary unit, and let each of you decide your route from here. This has just changed."

"My dear, did you call us just to tell us that you had a thought, and let it go?"

"I am not going to allow these abominations to threaten the Great Oak, and I will not let them defile the monument of my people. I am going from here to Kuldahar, and to the Severed Hand. I will be glad if any of you decide to help, yes even you Sally, but I won't force you. It's your decision."

"If I do go, and chronicle your oh-so-mighty deeds, you will have to stop calling me Sally," said the bard.

"Why, miss, isn't that your real name? I thought... ahem. Nevermind."

As the halfling withered into silence, Diriel strode forward and took Lena's hands in his. "I commend your decisions, and I feel moved to reward them. I will go with you, Lena, and together we will cleanse the relic of our people's past of these abominations." He raised his voice slightly. "We are both used to travelling in the wild, and our skills will be more than sufficient. No one else need to accompany us, our combined power will be ample for this task."

"Where she goes, I go," said Rizdaer, behind him.

Diriel turned to the drow, drawing himself up. He was the taller of the two, as he kept on reminding at every turn, and now he was calling on that again. But Rizdaer stood unmoved, as he had through the whole conversation. Feet planted steadily in the snow, his dark hood over his head, a sword in each hand. One of the blades was covered in the dark, sticky blood of the reanimated corpse, and Lena could see a drop of it very, very slowly forming at the tip of the blade. She realised it didn't shake or sway, because Rizdaer's hand was just that steady.

"Your loyalty is commendable, but unnecessary. Notice how Lena did not express a wish for you to accompany her."

"Nevertheless."

Diriel took a deep breath. "You are not needed on this mission. Indeed, you are not wanted-"

"Don't speak for me, Diriel. Of course I want Rizdaer with us. Someone has to hold the front line, and I can't imagine anyone better."

"Thank you, Mistress."

She smiled at him, but before she could say anything more, he turned away and started packing. Lena found herself face to face with Diriel again.

"You disappoint me."

"Really? Because just now you commended me and wanted to reward me. I intend to take them down hard, Diriel. No half measures. I will not have them forcing people to breed. The very thought sickens me."

"Indeed. To think that the demonic monstrosities have a plan which includes producing even more wretched half-breeds is sickening."

Lena stared at him for a long, long moment. "You mean that, don't you," she said, finally. "You mean exactly that. You don't care that people are abducted, raped, forced to have children by violence. You only care that it's half-breed children they have. If it were elven women and men forced to breed, you'd have no problem with that."

"The People must breed, Lena. We have allowed ourselves to be outnumbered by the humans' greater fertility. Surely you understand-"

"Oh I understand! I understand just fine, Diriel. You would do exactly the same, wouldn't you! Turn elven women into your brood mares? You call us 'the People' but you don't really think we are people, do you?"

"Lena, you must-"

"You will not tell me what I must, Diriel. I have accepted our past differences because I... because I did, but this? This is the last straw!"

"You are not thinking rationally right now, Lena. Consider-"

"No. I will not 'consider,' I will not 'discuss,' I will not put myself in a position where you treat me like a plot of soil, for you to stomp your footmarks into, plant what you wish and uproot what you wish. I am not your fertile ground, Diriel!"

She stormed away towards the fire, where a few of the surviving hunters were taking out a casket of spirits, to steel their nerves after seeing their dead comrades walk and fight. As she took a cup and gulped down a good swig, Salomeya sidled up to the frowning druid.

"You see, brother? I told you you would regret your stupid choice. Oh, well. At least I can turn this into a suitably hilarious ballad. 'The man who chose sawdust over silk' has a nice ring to it."

"This is a minor setback. I can and I will change her mind."

"Oh of course you will, brother. Of course. There are so many ways in which that can be achieved, after all. Arousing jealousy, for instance, works most of the time."

And, with a wink, Salomeya went away, stepping daintly over a dead body. Diriel stood there, frowning.

:::::

"You got mighty upset there, miss," said Nikosh, appearing beside her with Sally's newly cleaned fur.

"So I did."

"Ah, well. Does one good to let it out sometimes. I, um, I made my decision, miss."

"And?"

"I will be coming with you, miss, if you don't mind. I believe I can be useful, and... well... I've always wanted to see the Severed Hand, and the way things are now, coming with you may be the only way." He smiled nervously. "We can retake it from cambions what treat people like cattle, too, if you like."

Lena smiled. "Thanks, Nick."

"You're welcome, miss. And maybe you can let me, um, collect some samples of elven craftsmanship while we're there, eh?"

"Hah. Sure. Why not? It's already a ruin."

"That's nice. 'Scuse me, I need to get this coat back to miss Salomeya."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lena could see the village elder coming up to her, with the village healer in tow. Anger still boiling inside her, she had no wish to talk to either of these women, so she held Nikosh back.

"Why do you take orders from her? You are not her servant."

"Oh, she, um... she, well, she agreed not to, um... Well, she says there's a bounty on my head, and, um, she graciously refrains from collecting it..."

"Nick, she is almost certainly lying. And if she isn't, she's still in no position to collect a bounty on you."

"Begging your pardon, miss, but why not? She could kill me easily while I sleep."

"If she kills you, I will kill her, and have you raised while I let her rot. I promise."

"Speaking of raising..."

It was Venla's voice. Lena actually liked Venla, inasmuch as she could like anyone in this rather pointless and obstructive village. But Suoma stood beside her, with her usual "they call me wise so I must be" expression. Lena didn't reply and continued packing.

"My friend," Suoma started. Lena almost gritted her teeth. "I know you have done much for us already-"

"You really don't know when to stop, do you."

"The good hunters, they did not deserve to die like this. Please, I heard you speak of raising your friend, so you must be able to afford the components. I beg you to help us buy the components to raise our hunters, cruelly murdered."

"No."

It came out flatly, with a ring of finality to it. Both women gasped. They actually gasped.

"You... you would not help us? You would let them rot?"

"I helped you already, old woman. Again and again. With the children, yes, you needed help. But with the wight? All you had to do was talk to it. You didn't do even that! And Kyosti? You're supposed to be wise, and you couldn't work that one out? You are not fit to lead your people, Suoma, and your people are not fit to live here, on the edge of danger. Go settle somewhere where you won't need someone like me to have mercy on you. Repeatedly."

"I... I just might, traveller. But to do that, I need my hunters back. My bravest men. Won't you take pity on them?"

"No. They are dead, gone to the afterlife. What you want is me taking pity on you - on your guilt for their deaths. If you hadn't tried to use me, the cambions would not find me here and your men would be alive now."

"But-"

"I will not save you from the consequences of your own actions, Suoma. What you feel is payment for your stupid decisions. Suck it up."

"If... if you don't help us raise them, I will not tell you the way through the Fell Wood!"

"You really can't learn, can you? Not telling us the way is what killed them, you dumb old crone. Do you really want to know what further harm will it cause?"

"Are you threatening me?"

Lena brought her face close to the old woman's.

"Yes, I am."

Venla the healer put her hand on Suoma's arm. "Elder, the elf has a point. We have our children back, and the village has a future. In the past, it was not our own strength that let us flourish, but the parasite witch who fed on us in secret. We now know that, were it not for her, we could never survive here. We should move away, and raise a new generation of hunters in a safer place. Let the travelers be on their way, and us on ours."

Suoma glared at the healer with almost murderous intent. Lena wondered if the village had some voting system, and whether Venla was on her way to becoming the leader. "Very well," the elder finally said. "There is a type of creature in the Fell Wood that we call Dark Treants. It is their warped influence that makes the wood dark and dangerous. It is they who bar the way to you. Destroy them, and the way will be clear."

Lena hoisted her pack on her shoulders and went to round up the party.


	9. Dark Wood, Dark Deeds

With Limha dead, the Fell Wood was just as dark and just as treacherous, guarding its paths just as jealously. But it was not outright hostile. Lena could feel the slow, ponderous process that was the life of a giant organism made of thousands, millions other organisms, from the smallest insect to the largest tree. The living dead were gone, and now the Wood was inhabited only by those creatures that truly had the right to be there. She felt that, knew that.

Now that she knew there were Treants in the wood, too, she realised that the strange marks in the snow, marks which looked as if someone was dragging logs around, were signs of the Treants' passing. Tracking them wouldn't be difficult, but it would take a long time, because it was very hard to tell how old a trail was in this place. It was afternoon, and the sun was somewhere out there. Sometimes, a ray of sunlight managed to penetrate the thick, dark canopy, but most of the time the black crowns hung like a roof over their heads. Crows nested in it, here and there, and they never scattered in panic at their approach. They just fell silent, and waited.

We are no longer intruders, Lena thought, we are guests. Guests that the host is uncertain about, but guests nonetheless. She led the party, slowly and carefully, through the treacherous paths, towards the clearing where she knew Carynara the dryad lived, noticing that everyone seemed to move with care and respect. Even the bard was silent.

The dryad sat on a low branch of her tree, swinging her spindly legs in the air. "Hello," she tittered. "The wood speaks of your passing."

"What does it say?"

"Can't you tell, ranger? Ask your druid, then, I bet he can!" She jumped down and glanced from one to the other. "The wood is uncertain. It has just woken up from a very bad dream, and it doesn't know whether to thank you, or kill you."

"Kill us, miss? But we are the ones who made the bad dream go away!"

"Oh I know, my little friend, I know! But now that the dark monsters are gone, the wood does not know if it can keep on defending itself. And it does not know what else do you plan to make go away."

"That's why I'm here, Carynara. Help me find the Treants."

"And if I do, what shall you do with them? Destroy them?"

"Not if they don't try to destroy me. I only wish to speak to them."

"Do you? Well, I don't believe you. You came here many times, always in the name of the village people. And they kill animals and chop down trees, and get in my way. I like the Wood peaceful and without travellers. I won't help you. Do you own work."

Before Lena could reply, Diriel stepped forward. There was a greenish glow in his eyes, like there was sometimes when he cast his spells. He took the dryad by the arm, and said, strangely gently, "You will help us, Carynara. I know you will. You are a reasonable young dryad, and you want to please a brother of Nature, don't you?"

The light reflected in Carynara's eyes, opened wide and staring at Diriel. "Yes... Yes of course..." she said, slowly. "You can... rest here, because... you must be tired. And tomorrow we will find the Elder Treant so you can speak to him."

"Perfect," the druid replied.

:::::

Lena sat with her back to the large tree, feeling its warmth even through her cloak and leathers. Sally and Nick were both complaining that the dryad didn't let them make a fire, but Lena felt just fine without it.

From her place, she could observe both Rizdaer and Diriel, her gaze wandering from one to the other as usual. Both did what they always did during rest time: Rizdaer sharpened, cleaned and oiled his weapons, while Diriel observed the local wildlife and took extensive notes.

Yet there was a difference. Diriel's usually stoic, uninterested expression was replaced by one of mild but constant irritation, as if his pen didn't write properly. Whereas Rizdaer, instead of sulking at the world at large, seemed at ease and in strangely good spirits. Lena could hear him whistling quietly as he polished the shorter blade.

"Do you like it here, Rizdaer?" she said.

"I do, Mis- uh, yes, I do."

"Why?"

"It's not as bright, not much sky is visible, and not many creatures make noise."

"And are those the only reasons?"

"Why do you ask, Mi- "

"Lena. My name is Lena. You can do it. I believe in you."

Rizdaer took a deep breath. "Why do you ask, Lena?"

"I love it when you say my name, Rizdaer," she said, closing her eyes. When next he spoke, he was suddenly closer.

"And I... I really like when you say my name, Lena."

She looked right into his gemlike, violet eyes. Ever since he stopped using the "disguise" - since there was so little point in doing so out here - his eyes shone like amethysts against his dark skin, and his hair put snow to shame. Lena caught herself staring at his face, at his sharp lips and beautiful cheekbones, before she noticed his strangely concentrated expression. He voiced his own preference to a woman... something that, all his life, could have gotten him killed...

"You do?" she asked.

"Yes. You say it so... softly."

"So why do you like the Fell Wood... Rizdaer?"

He watched her lips for a moment before he spoke. "It's so dark and close it almost feels familiar. But it's still a surface forest, with all the strangeness. Exotic. Majestic, too. I think..."

"Yes?"

"I think this place is the best of both worlds."

He looked in her eyes when he said that, breathlessly, like he was squaring up to do something very dangerous. Not knowing how to react, she put her hand over his and stroked his long fingers in silence.

"Mi- Lena. You know you only need to give the order..." he began.

She stiffed the desperate groan that rose in her chest, and turned her face away. "The dryad is right, we should get some sleep," she mumbled, hurriedly.

:::::

She woke up when Nikosh came back from his watch, and for a while she just lay curled up in her blankets. Turning her head, she saw Rizdaer, as close to the warmth of the dryad tree as possible. He was wrapped in a woollen blanket and in his own woollen cloak, but still he looked cold. Lena got up, quietly, and covered the drow in her winter wolf fur coat, made by Oswald. The crash seemed years ago already.

Turning her head, she saw an unexpected empty space: Diriel was gone for his watch, but so was his bedroll. For a second, she thought he just packed up and left the party, giving up on them, on her, on the whole thing. But then she heard a... a sound. A strangely familiar, rhythmic sound, which she couldn't quite place.  
Moving as quietly as she could, she followed the noise. It annoyed her how almost-recognisable it was. She was sure she should be able to tell instantly what made such a sound, but she couldn't.

Crouching by a huge, dark tree, Lena peered into a small clearing. And sure enough, there was Diriel, reclining on his blanket, propped up on one elbow. Some moonlight managed to get into the clearing, and it gleamed off his light hair. It also gleamed off the almost-white head of the dryad.

Diriel's other hand was buried in Carynara's hair, which he held closely, keeping her head in place, moving rhythmically over his hips. Up and down, up and down... Lena stared, stared at Diriel's undone clothing, at the fringe of hair below his navel. Then Carynara shifted position, and Lena saw the dryad's pink-white lips, wrapped tightly around his hard shaft. But he clicked his tongue impatiently, and the girl hastily corrected her grip, shifted back to the way he preferred it. Lena realised that the sound she had heard was the dryad's muffled whimpering, which intensified when Diriel tugged on her hair.

Lena stepped into the clearing, striving to keep her voice as level as possible. "I'm pretty sure that's unethical," she said.

Diriel glanced up, and Carynara tried to, too, but he wouldn't let her. She squealed as he pushed her mouth back onto him, all the while looking up at Lena. In his eyes was something like... a challenge?

"You should be resting, Lena."

"And you should be watchful. That's why it's called a watch."

"There is nothing to watch against here now, Lena. You should know that. And I need to have my physical needs seen to, sometimes, lest it impairs my concentration."

Lena opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She wasn't sure whether to laugh in his face, or slap him. The earnest, almost machine-like way in which the dryad kept on sucking him made her nauseous.  
She turned around and simply walked back to her bedroll, feeling his eyes cutting into her retreating back.

:::::

Rizdaer was still asleep, or at least pretended to be. Lena was thankful for that - she really didn't want to tell him why both she and Diriel were away at night, especially since he wouldn't believe the truth anyway. But as she burrowed into her blankets, she saw Sally stir and turn over.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"For the record," the bard said, "when I told him he should get with another woman, I meant me."

"I'm sure you did."

"But at least I can console myself with knowing that I was right."

"Oh? What about?"

"About this being the right treatment. Your face is even more sullen and unpleasant than usual, so I gather you realise now how stupid it is to push away a man like Diriel while being a woman like you."

Lena wrapped the blankets tighter around her. "Sally, do you know anything about Druidic magic?"

"I told you not to call me that. Enough to write about it in songs, if I want."

"So, almost nothing, then." Lena sighed, trying to settle comfortably. "If you had known anything about it, about the spells that summon and control woodland creatures... You'd know that it's not jealousy I'm feeling."

She turned her back to the bard, which meant she was facing Rizdaer now. And of course he was wide awake, his eyes watching her face in the dark.


	10. The Treant of Knowledge

The Elder Treant lived in a small nook between tall rocks, where an icy cold water spring whispered its endless story. Lena stepped between the rocks, her heart thumping in her chest.

The Treant was an immense creature, his stocky trunk-torso at least seven feet across, gnarled and folded onto itself. His head was crowned with a tall, though not very wide, canopy of alder leaves. While the Treant himself seemed turned away from her, the many birds in his crown have all turned to look at her as she approached, in complete silence. Lena had never felt so watched.

"I greet you, Forest Father," she said, slowly and distinctly. "I thank you for allowing me in your domain. I come in peace, and hope to parlay."

The only answer was a gust of wind in the tree crowns and, far behind her, the voice of Nikosh, whispering "How do we know she's not just talking to another old tree, eh?"

Then came the long, dry, drawn-out groan of wood turning and twisting very, very slowly. The crown of alder leaves began to lift... Lena realised that the Treant was sitting, and she was now watching him stand up, unfold his long legs and stretching his back. What she took for a very thick torso was, in fact, all of his body, curled up.

Standing, the Elder Treant was about fourteen feet tall. Lena felt her neck protest as she tried to look up into his face, far above, where his eyes were two pools of gleaming, green light.  
His voice came slowly, ponderously, but when it rang out, it shook the forest roof and made the ground tremble under her feet.

"...speak."

"I am the one who killed the witch Limha." Well, okay, she thought, Rizdaer is. That's practically the same. "I ended her spell over your domain. I now seek passage through the Fell Wood and beyond."

"...so?"

"I do not yet know the Fell Wood well enough to find my way. There is a human, in a village to the west, who does know the way. She told me the Treants will never allow anyone passage through the Wood, and that I must destroy you in order to pass."

"...and... will... you..?"

"No. I do not believe her. I think she is lying and trying to use me. I think she wants you destroyed so her people have the run of these woods. I will not allow that."

"...you... would ally yourself... with us... against them..?"

"Yes. In a way. I care much more for you than for them. And I think when they see the Treants are still here, they will move their village away."

"...and if... I... refuse...?"

"Why would you? I have nothing but admiration for your domain. I seek to protect it."

"...why?"

Lena took a deep breath. She had hoped she would be able to see their faces when she said the words, but she'd have to make do with hearing. "Because I hope to come and settle here when my quest is over."

Yes! There it was. Diriel's gasp. And Rizdaer's voice, low, controlled, saying "Here? Hmm." Hah.

The Treant thought about it, his crown of leaves shifting gently in the wind, for a long time. Tricked by the silence, the birds started to chatter.

"...agreed." The word fell onto the clearing like a stone from the sky. Lena waited for there to be more, but apparently that was it... until the Treant's long branch-hand came slowly down till it was right in front of her face. A single alder cone came up to her on a tiny twig.

"...eat."

Lena broke the cone off, crumbled it into several pieces in her fingers, and ate it. It was hard as stone, the splinters cutting into her mouth and tongue, scratching her throat as she swallowed. Then the pain went away, and suddenly, she knew.  
She knew where to go, she knew how to find her way. She knew the whole of Fell Wood, the water and rock, the dead trees and the young saplings, the hunger of the wolf packs and the skittish nervousness of the deer herds.

She knew the way through. And she knew that, even if he made her forget afterwards, what Diriel did to Carynara was rape.

She walked back to the party with a heavy tread. Diriel was the first person she saw, and for a moment, she felt a stab of pain as she realised he was so close to being the man of her dreams. And yet so horribly, horrifyingly different.  
He looked into her eyes, and it seemed to her that, maybe for the first time, he truly saw an equal in her. When he realised she saw him as he truly was, he also saw her as she truly was.

He strode forward and took her arm. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Suddenly, Lena felt as if she was inside his mind. Or maybe his mind was everywhere around her. He was in the earth, the wind, the very air she breathed. And she was in all those for him, she knew. They were suddenly the same person, their hearts beating as one, their thoughts intertwined.

Long afterwards, Lena still caught herself wondering, from time to time, what was it he gleaned of her in that moment. Because she, in that moment, saw everything. She could read his mind, and she could see him observe and measure her strength, her speed, her healing processes. He analysed her like a farmer analyses a horse before buying it. She saw him try to calculate her body cycle, to know when she was fertile and when not. And she saw the future, as well - she saw him take her to the Great Oak of Kuldahar, saw him use the wonder and awe the tree made her feel to throw her off her guard. She saw them making love between the roots of the Tree... and she saw Diriel "forgetting" to tell her that the magic of the Great Oak would override her usual pregnancy prevention measures.

In that one rushed, powerful, terrifying moment of union, of clarity, she saw herself: a body to be used, a womb to be impregnated against her will.

Long afterwards, Lena was still proud of herself that she did not run away, crying and sobbing hysterically. She walked away, haughtily, and led the party on through the Fell Wood.  
And when they came out on the other side, in the privacy of her mind, Lena thanked all the Seldarine. Not for finding her way - that had been her skill, and the help of the Elder Treant. But she thanked them for allowing that short, reversible Communion that saved her from an irreversible one.

Did any of the party know why she was so fierce in the battles that followed?  
Did any of the party realise why she was so fearless facing not one, but two dragons?  
Did any of the party understand why she hadn't spoken to anyone at all, all that time, even in the Duergar tunnels, or battling the hook horrors?

Did any of the party notice how, when arrows failed, she closed in on one of Harshom's underlings - a slender, light-haired mage - and cracked his neck with her bare hands, with all signs of enjoyment?

She didn't know. But she wondered about that long afterwards, too.


	11. In the Shade of a Raven

It was truly peaceful inside the Black Raven monastery. Truly and completely peaceful.

"Such a strange thought," she said, out loud, as she took off her boots.

"What is, miss?"

"That we are completely safe here."

"Yes, miss. There's beds, and food, and absolutely no monsters. 'Tis a pity the architecture is so bland, though, but I heard some of the pots are very nice, quite ancient copperwork." The halfling jiggled the small change in his pocket distractedly.

"Knock yourself out, Nikosh," Lena said, laying back on the narrow bed. As beds go, it was quite an ascetic one - Salomeya spoke about that fact at length - but for her, it felt positively luxurious.

She let out a long sigh. She was warm, and safe, and tomorrow she'd pass some sort of monk trials, which couldn't be that hard if there were so many monks. For now, she could just relax, which was, frankly, uncanny.

Her eyes strayed to Diriel, sitting on a cot in the corner, examining his notes. He had made one tentative approach to her, right after the second dragon battle, but she had no interest in his words then. Now she thought of Aruma, who was able to forgive her lover even though she felt, no, she knew, she had been so deeply betrayed. Lena firmly felt that Dolon deserved his second chance, but...

"Lena?" It was Rizdaer. He had her boots in his hand, and a small tin of dubbin, too. He sat down on the floor and started to clean and rub her boots, the picture of a devoted servant, and as he did so he whispered to her, urgently.

"Did I hear you right? You said we are completely safe here?"

"Yes, we are. Isn't it wonderful?"

"No. It's not true. You mustn't drop your guard."

"What? Those monks are quiet, rule-abiding people, and their leader owes us."

"That may be part of their plan. Besides, we know the cambions had one agent in here. What's to say they don't have another? Acting in secret while the conspicuous tiefling absorbs everyone's attention?"

"Rizdaer, I... Look, it's a smart idea, but-"

"Stay alert. That's how you stay alive."

"But you said yourself you wanted to find a place where you could sleep without being on guard!"

"Yes. But this is not that place."

"I believe it is, Rizdaer. I really do." She slid off the bed and joined him on the floor, taking up part of his work. She had long ago given up on trying to get him to stop doing all these servile things. "Look, I know how to survive on the surface. I can tell when a place is safe."

"You only have to be wrong once."

"Not this time, then! This place, these people, are safe. We can eat and sleep and really, truly relax here."

Rizdaer put away the leatherwork and took up sharpening her dagger. "I remember when you told me to close my eyes, back in the ice mountain," he said, hesitantly.

"Exactly! You needed to drop your guard then. For your own good."

"I hated it, though." He watched her for a moment. "Lena, you seem intent on making me..." he broke off.

"Yes? Making you what?"

"I don't know. It's all a mystery to me. You're a mystery. You want something, but I don't know what. And you want me to be something, but I don't know what, either."

"Right now, I just want you to be a thoroughly rested, fed, healed, contented drow man."

"There's no such thing."

:::::

Sometime later, when Rizdaer was left alone in the room, Salomeya sidled up to him and twined his hair in her fingers.

"You can't possibly be happy with being her consolation prize," she said.

"I'm not."

"Hah! I knew you had some pride underneath all that-"

"I meant I'm not her consolation prize."

"Oh, please! Even you can't be that blind! Diriel was not obedient enough, so she turned to you, who are so eager to let her drag you around."

"The last thing she wants is to drag me around."

"And more's the pity, right? The more you try to make this into something you understand and know how to navigate, the more she recoils from you."

"And the closer she gets to either of us males, the more you want to tear him away. She likes the halfling, too. Will you make a move on him next?"

Salomeya made an impatient gesture and sprang to her feet. "Bah, I have no time for this! I have some chastity vows to undo, so you can stay here and... wallow."

But as she reached the door, she stopped, and turned around to look at the drow. He was done with his meticulous maintenance of Lena's weapons, and now he stood up, a dark, menacing figure in the serene austerity of the monastery guestroom. Even as she watched, he slowly started to take his armour off, piece by piece. She swallowed.

"By the way... when you said you were not her consolation prize, you sounded very sure."

"Yes."

"Why?"

He turned to face her, unbuckling the chestpiece. He dropped it gently to the floor and took off the rest, too, before he spoke. Salomeya couldn't help noticing how tight-fitting his shirt was, and how his body looked under it. "Would it make sense to you if I said 'Because of how eager she was for me to have wine with my chicken'?" he said.

"Hah! It just might, dear. It might. But now I really have to run."

She blew him a kiss and was gone. Rizdaer kept on undressing until he was left standing in just his black breeches and boots, and then he went to find a novice-looking monk named Sersa. She told him the monastery had a simple sort of washroom, behind the kitchens. She also offered to lead him there. He said he'd find his own way.

:::::

Lena stood on the roof, under the dark, cold sky. The air was crisp and fresh, and the valley was silent, save for the occasional woosh of the ice drakes soaring from cliff to cliff.

She had her warm boots on, and she was wrapped in the white wolf cloak, but apart from that all she wore was a short tunic of green linen. The feeling of her body unconstrained by armour and not weighted down by her pack was amazing.

She neither heard nor smelled him as he approached, she only noticed him when his hand appeared close to hers on the stony parapet. She turned to face him, and the gasp she had managed to suppress before got out after all.  
Rizdaer was stripped to the waist, his wide, muscular shoulders covered only with the winter wolf scarf. His arms were bare, his neck exposed, his hands empty, and up close, he smelled slightly of soap. He was disarmed, disrobed, positively civilian. It was the first time she has ever seen him like this, and she stared for a long moment at his chest, with its sculpted shape, its wiry muscles, the smooth, dark skin gleaming in the starlight. With, here and there, the lighter patches of scars.

He had a strangely shaped one in the place of his left nipple. Lena managed to stop herself from touching it. "What's the story behind the nipple?" she asked, instead.

"The usual," he replied, with a shrug. "But at least I kept my heart."

There was something in the way he said it that made her drop her gaze and look away. She turned her eyes back to the valley below them, even as she knew he kept watching her. Straining her eyes to see in the dark, to notice anything in the featureless white below, to escape from this strange blandness of his, this bitter stoicism where she knew, or at least suspected, a storm of feeling should be.  
She was about to scream just to break the silence when he finally spoke.

"Lena, you have me in a game I cannot win. You hold all the aces, you know whether I'm doomed to fail of whether I can have hope. Release me."

She swallowed. Out in the white expanse of the valley, a solitary figure trudged through the snow, about to do something that would probably have it torn apart by the ice drakes. And yet Lena envied it, in a way. It didn't have to deal with this.

"Rizdaer, it's not easy for me, either. Far from it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know. I can't know why... why you're... pursuing me. You were taught that you didn't have a choice. You were taught that you had to..." she trailed off.

"Then we are not in a game. We are in a ghostly maze and there's no other way but to punch through." Rizdaer squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. After another long moment, he reached for her hand. "Lena, do you find me attractive?"

As frayed as her self-control was by all the recent events, she had to fight not to burst out laughing, because no amount of explaining could ever fix that. "Yes, Rizdaer," she forced herself to say. "I find you very attractive. Do you find me attractive?"

"Yes! By the nine hells," he shouted, like a man finally giving in to long torture, "yes I do!" Then he let out a long, strained breath, and passed a hand over his face. "I feel like I just fought my way through a swarm of driders," he added.

Lena felt like she was the loveliest twinkly little fairy in the flower kingdom, but she decided to give him a moment. She turned her eyes back to the figure in the valley.

"So," he said, after a while, "why are you here? Didn't you want to be warm and safe?"

"I wanted to see what Sally was up to. That's her down there."

He turned to look. "So it is. It looks like she's stealing... something... from one of those big nests?"

"Hah. These eggs are a prized alchemy component. We'll see in the morning how dearly she paid for hers."

"Do you want me to go down there?"

"What? Absolutely not. She's on her own." Lena reached out and stroked his face gently. Yes, she said to herself, you still need to respect his boundaries, remember that. "I want you to rest. You fought through a swarm of driders, remember?"

Rizdaer covered her hand with his, and leaned into it, closing his eyes. "It was worth it," he said. "I may even try that 'rested and contented' thing."


End file.
